While I don’t regret getting a PS4, it marked the first time I felt dissatisfied enough with a console to go back and hook up an older one. Part of the beauty of the PS2 isn’t just its gargantuan library, but that so much of that library is so "out there." It hasn’t had a new release since 2013, and yet I still find it exciting to think about all its underappreciated, oddball titles I missed out on when I was little which I’ve now got the opportunity to try for the first time. The first “new” game I decided get was Viewtiful Joe, and it was a rainbow V ranked decision.

Little did we know that cinematic-ness in video games isn’t achieved via claustrophobic over the shoulder cameras or unskippable cutscenes, but through sick action sequences with fancy window dressing. Weaving Joe in and out of swarms of enemies, most of whom attack simultaneously on higher difficulties, is best described as like playing through the corridor scene from Oldboy as a Power Ranger. It’s relentless, but you have just the right amount of tools to always be able to shirk your way out of sticky situations and look viewtiful while doing it. Ducking, jumping, sliding, using Red Hot Kick to create some space or automatically dodging in exchange for a hefty amount of your VFX meter ensures that things never feel unfair, while also making Joe a joy to control. Slap a cool cel-shaded art style and lots of film bars on top and you basically have your own playable, self-directed tokusatsu show.

All that stuff helps make Viewtiful Joe deceptively complex, which can be said for the combat too. Even standard punches and kicks have some nuance to them you might not initially notice, with the former always launching enemies straight up or across and the latter always launching them at diagonal angles. They also nudge Joe forward a bit on use and can be instantly cancelled into each other, which can help you stay in the air or with spacing whenever sliding is too committal. Important stuff for making the most of Rock On attacks (i.e. knocking enemies into each other), which apart from funny slapstick value are pretty integral for getting good scores. Like seeing numbers go up? You’re in for a thrill. You WILL grin the first time your score counter taps out at 9999 even though you’ve clearly gotten more than that, amidst enemies bouncing off walls and CMON BABY YEAHs echoing ever into the distance.

It’s impressively lean for a Kamiya game too. There’s only one part that could be considered a minigame(!!) and it isn’t even, arguably. All that really changes about the core mechanics in the Six Machine segment is that you can’t turn around or jump and you shoot instead of punching/kicking. I don’t mind most Kamiya minigames in the first place (maybe that’s my Stockholm syndrome talking), but this is probably his best for how it twists the gameplay in a way that keeps things fresh without deviating to the point of making you dread it on future playthroughs.

And you are gonna be revisiting this for future playthroughs. You’ve got your standard action game shtick of switching up enemy placements on higher difficulties (I call it “standard” but it’s leagues better than how most games outside this genre handle difficulties), for one. But it’s bolstered by the short runtime (not counting the time you’ll probably spend dying, a lot) and other clever ideas, like removing enemy attack indicators on Ultra V-rated, plus the fantastic incentive of unlocking a new playable character for beating each difficulty. This version specifically even has Dante. And not just any Dante, but Drew Coombs Dante for all you Reuben deniers out there. How about that? I doubt I’ll ever forget the time I finished off the final boss with Dante, pushed to my limits and one hit away from death on my last life, with this game’s equivalent of a taunt. Just like one of my Japanese Devil May Crys.

I play Viewtiful Joe and think to myself, “what about this would I change?” And I always come up short. There’s no level select, I guess? But it’s short enough that you can blast through to whatever point you want to play in less than an afternoon anyway, which also enhances its arcadey feel. I suppose it’d be nice if you could use Rock On attacks on bosses instead of zoomed in punches being the go-to for all of them? But the homogeneity of how to best damage them is more than made up for by the variety in terms of actually getting them to the point where they’re vulnerable; no two play alike in that regard. There’s not much else to be picky about outside of these. Music, art direction, pacing, humour, you name it – it’s all 10/10 stuff.

Kamiya isn’t my absolute favourite game director, but he’s up there to the point where I keep an eye on pretty much anything he works on, and not just because he’s literally me. This and The Wonderful 101 aren’t just two of my favourite games ever, I think they’re also both good showcases of what I can only assume he's really like beneath his coarse, Twitter-addled exterior. Goofy, free of cynicism and dedicated to putting a smile on your face.

The trouble with calling something “ahead of its time” is that it implies whatever made that something so special has become standard since its release. It’s easy to describe Fallout like that, or to say it’s “impressive for 1997” as if standards only ever improve over time, until you look around and realise how few RPGs since Fallout have even attempted to replicate what makes it such an excellent game, including its own sequels. Had they, it’s doubtful that Fallout would be subject to as many hyperbolic horror stories as it is today.

Among the most infamous and exaggerated of these is the time limit of Fallout’s main quest, which isn’t just arguably more generous than it should be even if you don’t choose to extend it, but also disappears halfway through anyhow. That makes it sound like a non-factor, but it’s an essential part of what makes Fallout a step above. No matter how generous it might be, the fact that it’s there at all creates a kind of congruence between player and protagonist that isn’t there in any other Fallout game, or many RPGs in general. Everything you do in Fallout is coloured by the underlying sense of urgency that it’s game over, literally and figuratively, if you spend too much time gallivanting about the wastes instead of on your core responsibility. The plights of Arroyo, Liam Neeson and Hoover Dam can wait until the Chosen One, Lone Wanderer and Courier feel like doing something about it, but unlike them, the world doesn’t revolve around the Vault Dweller. It probably doesn’t need to be said how much more synergistic this is with Fallout’s harsh setting than any its follow-ups, or how relieving it is when you finally get your hands on that water chip.

What this is indicative of is Fallout’s larger design philosophy – it isn’t afraid to let you make mistakes. Yes, you’re going to have a particularly hard time if you don’t dump points into your Agility, but why shouldn’t you? It makes sense that someone who isn’t quick on their feet shouldn’t be able to easily get by in such a hellish place. You feel the consequences of neglecting a particular S.P.E.C.I.A.L. stat more palpably here than in any other Fallout bar 2, most famously with how low Intelligence makes every single conversation in the game more strained (to say the least).

This design extends beyond character building, too. Fallout trusts players to figure out for themselves which dialogue options are affected by a high speech skill, instead of highlighting them for you as all of the 3D games do. Choose your words poorly upon meeting someone for the first time and their opinion of you can be permanently dampened for the rest of the game, signalled to you organically with a change in their facial expression, potentially locking you out of quests or causing others in the locale to distrust you. If things go really south, no punches are pulled in terms of everybody being expendable – you can go as far as to kill children, and making a good first impression with even evil characters becomes an uphill battle if you do.

In general, I don’t think killing things in Fallout is anywhere near as much of a drag as it’s often made out to be either. Weighing up how much AP to spend on either moving to get to a more advantageous position and reduce the amount of actions enemies can potentially take, or on attacking them definitely gets the gears in your head turning to some extent. Damage sound effects in this series never sounded anywhere near as satisfying after ditching the thumps and thwacks of this and Fallout 2, which make for some nice feedback on attacks when taken in tandem with the wonderfully gory sprite work. Being able to destroy or pry open doors enables ways for you to creatively manoeuvre through combat encounters and lets you progress quests in ways that you can’t in later titles, plus the amount of different hit reactions for each part of each enemy’s body is also pretty novel. You won’t be making any Combo MADs out of this, but if you don’t get even a hint of enjoyment out of seeing somebody gently slide across half of Los Angeles after they’ve been smacked with a sledgehammer, I probably don’t trust you.

What I do trust is Fallout’s ability to engross me in its world every single time I play it. Listen to how haunting this is, and then be aware that every other track in the game is at least on par with it. The ambient clicking and clacking of now ancient wartime equipment, the cosy boxed-in presentation of the HUD and its descriptive flavour text in its bottom left, the freaky architecture with all its giant heads... they all combine to sell the feeling of really being there, rivalling the best of any other game that predicates itself on immersion. When you encounter a voiced character and the music cuts you know you’re in for a proper event, bolstered by across the board stellar performances from tons of classic 90s voice actors that utterly command your attention. Meeting the Master and hearing him jolt his way through his iconic monologue about the Unity is like one long lesson in why he ended up defining the guy-with-good-intentions-does-the-wrong-thing-for-the-right-reasons-and-also-you-can-talk-him-to-death archetype. No Fallout antagonist has come close ever since (as cool as Frank Horrigan might be), be it in terms of motivations, the lengths you have to go to convince him that he’s in the wrong, anything.

Fallout is a remarkably pure translation of vision to game, and as another comment on here points out, it’s simply not given its dues as often as it ought to be. Even with this proverbial Vault of text, I still haven’t touched on everything it does well – for one thing, I can’t believe the Tell Me About feature didn’t become standard in every RPG made after this game’s release – but I hope this does it some justice all the same. Do give it a chance at some point if you haven’t already, and don’t be put off by any claims of “jank” or “clunk” or whatever other nebulous jargon you could just as easily apply to any of its much more recent successors. I first played Fallout well over a decade after it came out after being introduced to the series with 3, and even as a kid, I never found myself wishing it was more like the modern RPGs I was accustomed to. Quite the opposite.

I wanted to cap this off with a twist on “you’re a hero and you have to leave,” Fallout being the hero, but my Int is too low to make it sound clever. In the interest of avoiding a critical miss, I present a rare but thematically appropriate Todd. Will trade for either 20 caps or an iguana on a stick.

The gamer intelligentsia have led me astray. Mass Effect 3’s ending is relatively alright (heavy emphasis on “relatively”) – it’s near enough everything else that’s the problem.

Enough time and post-release patches have passed now that its stronger aspects have started to overshadow its shortcomings, which to an extent isn’t without merit. Intergalactic supersoldier Shepard no longer struggles to breathe after jogging for three seconds and has learned how to dodge roll, making movement less restrictive in general. The game makes full use of his enhanced agility through a legitimately great enemy roster which sports all sorts of new dynamic behaviours, whether it be homing projectiles or lunging attacks or setting up turrets to create chokepoints on the fly. Feedback on attacks is probably the most cathartic it’s ever been, in no small part thanks to power combos, which also go some way toward making the RPG mechanics feel the most relevant they’ve been since the original.

You might notice that that’s all to do with combat, which is because it’s about the only respect in which ME3 isn’t an unequivocal step back from its predecessors. The already simplistic dialogue wheel’s stripped down even further, the player barely having any control over what Shepard says most of the time and the middle option often being axed in the few instances where you do. This kind of railroading wouldn’t be so egregious if Paragon and Renegade choices weren’t as polarised as they are; alternating between the two within the same conversation feels akin to a series of mood swings, with Shepard going from Aslan one moment to Judge Holden the next, now with no in-between. No part of the game better illustrates how poor a roleplaying avatar Shepard has become than the fact that you can choose to murder a longtime friend, doom his billions-strong race to extinction and proceed to lie about it in the most aloof tone possible, only to then have to sit through PTSD-induced nightmares over the implied off-screen death of some kid he’d only seen for the first time a few minutes prior.

The impressively lame Kai Leng and the inability to shove him into a locker would be enough to dock several points on its own, but many of the other side characters aren’t inspiringly handled either. I laughed when a certain somebody died in the main quest’s finale, not because I particularly disliked him, but because of the contrast between Shepard’s mournful head shake and my trying to remember what his name was. Tali’s Joss Whedon-isms feel similarly misplaced aboard a ship controlled and staffed by hostile AI in the midst of a battle for the fate of her species. Ashley and Liara continue to suffer from essentially becoming different characters in each game of the trilogy, though Javik is a saving grace and his deconstruction of the latter’s naive preconceptions about his people is about the only personality she’s afforded. James also exists, supposedly, though you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise given that you can’t actually speak to him or anyone else anymore once you’ve exhausted all the dialogue they’re generously granted for whichever point in the main quest you’re at.

I praised the combat earlier, but no amount of bolted on, marginal improvements can offset how woefully uninteresting the scenarios you fight through are. Prior to the release of Dragon Age II, someone at Bioware was infamously misquoted as saying they “want the Call of Duty audience,” but what's on offer here doesn't feel far removed from this hypothetical philosophy. Much more often than in either of the prior games, control’s wrestled away from you for such invigorating setpieces as sliding down a small pile of rubble, the stakes these are obviously trying to communicate rendered inert by how it’s impossible for you to be in danger during them. Just about every situation, from making your way down to the hideaway of ancient sub-aquatic alien giants to aiming missile batteries at the weak point of a starship, is solved through wave-based survival sequences in square arenas that wear out their welcome within the first hour. The return to Omega is the epitome of this sort of design, and a microcosm of ME3 in general, because for all intents and purposes it’s not actually Omega – it’s a series of linear shooting galleries that happens to look like Omega, with all the merchants, quest givers, decision-making and everything else resembling an RPG snuffed out.

It’s staggering how dreary the first few parts of this game manage to be considering it opens with a full scale invasion of Earth, but I caution against wanting it to be over with as soon as possible like I did. As a result, I skipped a certain sidequest, not initially knowing that they’re effectively just excuses to catch up the cast of ME2, and it led to one character making a reappearance as a standard, unaltered enemy who happens to share her name and reuse that one voice clip from ME1. It’s so shoddy I like to imagine it’s intentionally so, to really drive home what a punishment for lazy players it is, but even this rationalisation can’t shake the feeling that I would’ve preferred nothing at all.

I’ve written before about how I prefer to avoid negativity unless I can use it to highlight something else I care for, and I hold to that – cynically tearing down somebody else’s hard work is as effortless as it is exhausting, both to do and to read. But nothing’s made me appreciate what lightning in a bottle ME1 was quite like experiencing firsthand how hard its potential was fumbled. From the HUD, to the composition of your squad, to the ending’s attempt to bring back ME1’s focus on organic vs. synthetic life (for which I give it credit), ME3 is drenched in the feeling that it really wants to be ME1 again. I wish it wasn’t, because I’d rather just replay that instead, even knowing where it leads to.

I should go.

It’s important that you treat Pentiment with the same scrutiny and scepticism that you (hopefully) do with any other historical source. Most media, not just videogames, are, politely put, atrocious at dealing in good faith with the settings and themes that Pentiment tackles, to the point where it’s probably reasonable to call it one of the most authentic games ever made in this regard. The flip side of this is that it makes the things Pentiment gets wrong feel more conspicuous than they would be otherwise.

If that last part has your guard up, you can safely lower it, because Pentiment’s small handful of inaccuracies are pretty minor in that they don't affect the plot overmuch. I won’t say what they are specifically, because this is the type of game where any and all details ought to be discovered yourself, but among other things, they include at least two cultural events which are unambiguously Christian being misattributed to Alpine paganism of some description, as well as one figure who was (to my knowledge) neither pre-Christian nor worshipped as a goddess being described as a pre-Christian goddess.

There are a couple of reasons why these don’t overly strain Pentiment’s believability and for which it deserves to be given the benefit of the doubt. For starters, relative to the vast majority of media set during the early modern period and (in this case, just after the) Middle Ages, Pentiment’s immensely tactful to the point where I'm (almost but not quite) inclined to think these kinds of mistakes were intentionally included, on the part of its characters rather than its writers; that it avoids the common error of misattributing the origins of Christian saints to pagan figures further suggests this. More broadly, it’s unreasonable to expect anything to be perfect in terms of accuracy and – on exceedingly rare occasions, in exceptionally talented hands – inaccuracies can be advantageous. Excalibur’s a more visually distinctive and symbolic film for featuring armour which is about 1000 years too advanced for the 5th/6th century AD. Shadow of Rome’s a more memorable game for making you fight a ~15ft tall Germanic barbarian whose weapon of choice is a marble pillar. Likewise, in a meta sort of way, Pentiment’s central idea of historiographical truth being difficult to pinpoint is arguably strengthened by its own shortcomings in this respect. Ideally, this’ll encourage players to be more wary of any historically-themed media they engage with, including Pentiment itself.

Any such grievances are further obscured by the mostly impressive weight Pentiment lends to your decisions. I had the fortune of playing through Pentiment concurrently with my brother, and when we’d walk in on each other playing it, we’d do mutual double takes as one of us was in the middle of story events that the other didn’t even consider would be possible. Speech checks being affected by past dialogue choices encourages you to constantly, properly pay attention to and think about what you’re saying in a way I personally haven’t seen done since the isometric Fallouts or Vampire the Masquerade Bloodlines. Although its time limits (while appreciated) aren’t implemented as organically as Fallout 1’s, an advantage Pentiment has over even those titans is that it also autosaves after every single action you take, lending everything a degree of permanence that few other RPGs can offer. If you were feeling particularly cheeky, you could go as far as to say that Pentiment can be counted alongside the campaign of Black Ops 2 in the pantheon of games which actually are what everyone pretends New Vegas is.

I call it only mostly impressive because Pentiment’s key weakness is the linearity of its third and final act, which even if you’re being charitable can only really be called overbearing. Not to bang on the choices-don’t-matter drum too hard, because nobody can ever seem to agree what choices mattering in a game really looks like, but you’re much more likely to wish you were able to say or do something other than the options you’re given in the last act than in the preceding two. Potential twists and turns you might hope to direct this chapter’s plot towards are often snuffed out by blurted out variations of “actually, I was only pretending to want to do that” that you rarely have any control over. This isn’t to suggest that Pentiment ends on a sour note – the ending itself’s quite lovely – but from a decision making standpoint, the whole last stretch’s noticeably more limiting.

However close it comes, this is never enough to distract from Pentiment’s visual splendour. Jan van Eyck paintings and The Tragedy of Man are the only other media I can think of which incorporate so many different historical art styles into one cohesive package and so skilfully. Sebhat being drawn in the style of Ethiopian Coptic Orthodox art’s a particularly inspired touch, but in general it’s no wonder that the art director and animators are the first names to pop up on the opening credits, because it’s like a playable manuscript. Rarely do you come across a game where you can legitimately say that the visuals are a selling point in and of themselves.

There should be more games like Pentiment. It represents two things we need more of – big developers putting out more niche, experimental titles, and historical media which isn’t riddled with self-congratulatory 21st century arrogance that spits on the memory of everyone who happened to be born before an arbitrary point in time, in which characters actually believe what they say and aren’t one-dimensional caricatures of the past. Be thankful it exists, whatever its issues.

Miss a beat in Hi-fi Rush and Chai will attack on beat anyway. It’s probably unreasonable to expect it to punish this sort of thing in the same ways that other rhythm action hybrids like Patapon, Metal Hellsinger or Cadence of Hyrule do, because it’s so notable in part specifically for being so different from everything else, but there’s being different and then there’s being disincentivisingly handholdy. It’s a symptom of a larger problem – Hi-fi Rush seems almost afraid of allowing the player to fail.

With a scarce few exceptions like one of the final boss’ more belligerent attacks, the contrast between proper timing and mistiming in Hi-fi Rush isn’t success versus failure, it’s success versus negligibly less success. It’s true that enough mistimed attacks can detract from your final rank, but this is inconsistent with how assist attacks contribute to your score despite not requiring any timing at all (exacerbated by their charitable cooldowns), as does an offbeat jump if it ‘avoids’ an enemy’s attack that was nowhere near you anyhow, and the penalty’s so minor it’s hard to notice. Rhythm Master difficulty goes some way toward assuaging all this by giving you an immediate game over if your rhythm meter falls below C, but it’s not hugely impactful because of the aforementioned inconsistencies, while the fact that it’s only available after beating the game also makes the common action game mantra of “the first playthrough is the tutorial” feel unfortunately literal.

As another example of this, Hi-fi Rush affords the player a generous helping of attack magnetism, or whatever you prefer to call the melee equivalent of aim assist that’s particularly common in western action games. Chai’s mobility is so rigid that I imagine the designers may have felt the absence of this might’ve led to a frustrating amount of dropped combos. Even still, it’s at best unnecessary given that Chai already has an equivalent of Nero’s Snatch from DMC4 & 5, and at worst a net negative for how it diminishes positioning. It doesn’t stop Hi-fi Rush from getting better as you yourself do, like any other worthwhile action game, but being able to both feel and see the developers artificially nudging things in your favour like this does cheapen the appeal of getting to grips with what is, in the grand scheme of things, quite a cool combat system.

Apparent influences from other action games, like its equivalent of Astral Chain & Bayonetta 3’s wink attacks, lend themselves naturally to the combat’s rhythm-based formula and complement the game’s lovely presentation well. Environmental doodads bounce to the beat like in Metal Hellsinger, diegetically communicating helpful information to the player not only in terms of timing but also because enemies always attack to the beat, which ensures consistency on their part (albeit hampering their ability to surprise you). Another caveat to the combat’s strengths, though, is that there isn’t really enough of it, at least until you unlock Rhythm Tower i.e. the Bloody Palace analogue.

Most levels in Hi-fi Rush are very long by action game standards and a hefty proportion of nearly all of them consists of platforming segments. This sounds inoffensive in a vacuum, particularly for a genre in which “gimmick” seems to be a dirty word in most people’s minds, until the stiffness of Chai’s movement and the absence of a proper bossfight for two or three entire chapters in the game’s midsection make it apparent how drawn-out these sections often are. The latter feels especially deflating because the bosses that are here are of a really high standard, being diverse both visually and mechanically, with a huge amount of effort and artistry gone into even just the freezeframes in their introduction cutscenes. I’d much rather have had a couple more of them than be Letz Shaked twice in a row.

What makes it feel especially disappointing to be part of the internet’s propensity for contrarian armchair criticism, aside from the fact that Hi-fi Rush couldn’t be any more up my street conceptually, is that it isn’t a game that deserves to be ragged on like this. At the end of the day, this is a new IP in an historically niche genre that’s feature-complete out of the box, bereft of tonal carcinogens like irony or cynicism, stuffed with substantial post-game unlocks and has Korsica in it. It’s just also one which is eclipsed several times over in depth, variety, pacing and general well-consideredness by any number of other action games both modern and from the period it’s a love letter to, which don’t tend to lack for sincerity, charm or bonus content in the first place.

Is it funny, deserving of success and easy to recommend to anyone interested in action games despite this? Yup. Is it the best action game ever, as suggested by its average rating here (at the time of writing) and elsewhere? That's kind of wild. I’m potentially open to the idea that Hi-fi Rush is in the top seven or so best games that Masaaki Yamada has worked on.

More firmly, I’m genuinely delighted that Tango’s thrown its hat into the action game ring and that doing so’s rewarded its clearly, transparently talented staff with their most unambiguous success so far. I’d love even more to be able to speak of them in the same vein as Capcom or Platinum or Team Ninja who, barring one or two semi-recent and enormously overemphasised missteps apiece, have long comprised a reliable triumvirate of quality action experiences which light up my frontal lobe in a way few other developers can. How often I found myself smiling during Hi-fi Rush’s cutscenes and character interactions versus actually playing the game means that I can’t yet, but it’s still promising enough to be indicative of their potential to someday join them on stage as one of the action genre’s rockstars.

In a bygone age where “See you in Rayman 4!” had yet to morph from an innocuous sequel hook into the cruellest lie since the Trojan Horse, Ubisoft were on a hot streak that few developers can claim to have had. It's not uncommon to scoff at them now, but much of the key talent that brought us so many instant classics of this era are still there, including Chaos Theory’s very own Clint Hocking. The personal touch of developers like him has become harder to parse with Ubi’s exponential growth and shifting priorities, but it’s hard not to retain a bit of goodwill so long as at least some of those who made Chaos Theory are still there, because it’s probably the best stealth game ever made.

Contrary to what one might think, Splinter Cell’s chief influence isn’t a certain other tactical espionage stealth action series, but rather Looking Glass. It’s not hard to imagine why – to this day, Thief has better sound design than any game that isn’t either its own sequel or System Shock 2, but the need for its state of the art reverberation system stemmed out of its first person perspective. If immersion is the name of the game, nothing sells it quite like having to track where enemies are through carefully listening the same way Garrett would, as opposed to having a disembodied floating camera that can see around corners do the work for you. How does Sam’s game measure up to that, given it’s in third person?

The answer is through a different kind of genius. In Chaos Theory, every individual part of Sam’s body is affected by light/darkness independently. You might not initially notice this until you arouse suspicion by peeking his head just a little bit too far out of a crawl space into a brightly lit area, or accidentally position him in such a way that his leg’s poking out from around a corner. Even now, it’s exceedingly rare for dynamic lighting to be anything more than window dressing, and yet Chaos Theory was making full use of its potential gameplay applications when N-Gage ports still existed. It goes further than this, too. Heavily armed enemies can not only light flares, but throw them in the direction they last saw or heard you, while others can flick on a torch that they’ll point at various angles as they follow your tracks. No other stealth game can match the anxiety Chaos Theory instils as you cling to a wall and hope that the guard a hair’s breadth away doesn’t turn in your direction while he's holding a light.

It’s important to note that despite its influences, Chaos Theory isn’t an immersive sim ᵃⁿᵈ ⁿᵒ ᴴᶦᵗᵐᵃⁿ, ᴹᴳˢ⁵ ᵃⁿᵈ ᴮʳᵉᵃᵗʰ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᵂᶦˡᵈ ᵃʳᵉⁿ'ᵗ ᵉᶦᵗʰᵉʳ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᵇᵉˢᶦᵈᵉˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵒᶦⁿᵗ. It instead opts for a middle ground between their emergent problem solving and its own predecessors’ affinity for pre-baked scripted set pieces. This may sound eclectic on paper, but it works remarkably well in terms of pacing. Relax one moment as you clamber up and down several floors of an office block in any order and through whatever means you please, but be ready the next when you have to switch the power back on and quickly scramble out of the now gleaming room as a squad of guards floods in. Granted, there’s a slight degree of inconsistency in this respect. The bank level’s famously bursting with alternate pathways to accommodate more play styles than you can shake a stick at, while the end of the bathhouse level could drive even an actual Third Echelon agent to forsake his non-lethal playthrough, but this balancing of peaks and valleys overall allows for lots of creative, freeform solutions while still ensuring that there’ll always be segments which demand your attention even on repeat playthroughs.

The fact that Chaos Theory manages to stay so engaging from start to finish without giving you any new equipment along the way is a testament to this, but other areas of the game deserve as much attention as its level design. For instance, no matter how many people are aware of how much Amon Tobin outdid himself with this game’s music, it’s still not enough. This series of chords is Splinter Cell, as much as thick shadows and green goggles, and if it were distilled into a person they would assuredly be skulking about in the dark. The extra instrumentation which dynamically fades in and out according to enemies’ alertness level (my favourite example being this absolute tune) not only drives home his talent even further, but also acts as another way to communicate important information to the player if the increasingly copious sandbag checkpoints throughout the level hadn’t already clued you in. To put things in perspective, this may be the only example of Jesper Kyd’s involvement in a soundtrack not being the highlight.

Chaos Theory’s also a beneficiary of the time when different ports of one game would have exclusive features for no particular reason. I can’t speak for how it controls on console, but I can say that adjusting Sam’s movement speed with the mouse wheel is a fantastic alternative to the standard method of protagonists instantly becoming silent as soon as they crouch (to my surprise, it doesn’t work that way in real life). Combine it with a camera that gently shifts about to give you the best possible view depending on which direction Sam is moving in and the game feels like a dream to control. On PC you also have the added benefit of being able to toggle whether enemies speak in their native languages, a bit akin to Crysis’ hardest difficulty, which despite being such a minor feature seems like a really underutilised concept.

I’d be remiss not to mention the writing as well. While it’s fair to say that Chaos Theory probably isn’t a game you’d play for the story itself, it’s equally true that it wouldn’t be so beloved if its characters weren’t so charming, including the guards, whose responses to being interrogated are not just genuinely funny but also a glaring counterpoint to the notion that this series takes itself too seriously. Few voice actors understand their characters as well as Michael Ironside gets Sam Fisher. Every delivery of his is golden, whether grumbling in response to his support team constantly bullying him for being old or in the plot’s more cathartic moments. Given both that Ironside has now dabbed on cancer a second time and his recent-ish reprisals of the role in the form of Ghost Recon DLCs, one can only hope they get him to work his magic again in the first game’s upcoming remake.

Regardless of how that turns out, it’s nice to know that Splinter Cell has some kind of future again. Bringing back something old can have just as much value as creating something new, and while asking it to be as good as Chaos Theory is probably a tall order, all it really needs to do is be good enough to prove that pure stealth games still have a place in the mainstream. Sam has saved us from WW3 several times over by now, so hopefully he can also save his genre from the plague of waist-high grass.

Hedging my bets on this one – see you in Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell® (TBD)!

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